Beep! Beep! Beep!
The sound of my alarm startled me out of a deep sleep. With my eyes halfway open, the sun peeked through my curtains as I struggled to find my phone between the sheets. The second I located it, I turned my blaring alarm off and sat it on my nightstand.
Though it was Saturday, I never slept in. I got up, routinely and carried on about my day after making my bed. I’m not the type to lay in bed all day anymore. I did enough of that shitduring my divorce. For some reason, getting my day started, getting active and running errands makes me feel good.
I’d already brushed my teeth and washed my face. By this point, I looked like a damn grease ball from using all the serums and creams, but it paid off very well. You wouldn’t be able to tell that I was a day over thirty by my glass skin and invisible pores.
As I was getting dressed, I heard my phone ring. I noticed it was an unknown number, so I let it go to voicemail until it rang again, piquing my interest. Instead of letting it go to voicemail again this time, I answered in a skeptical tone, somewhat annoyed at this point.
“Hello,” I answered with annoyance in my tone, not bothering to hide it.
“Nyne,” a deep baritone rang in my ear, damn near swooning me off my feet.
I took my phone away from my ear to squint at the unknown number as if I screened calls. Part of me was interested in the unfamiliar voice in my ear now.
“Yes,” I responded questionably. “Who is this?”
“This is Syx.”
There was a low chuckle on the other end, seeming unfazed by my aggravation. Then the name rung a bell… Syx The Sex Therapist, I stated to myself, wondering if he was as sexy as he sounded. My heart began to thump loudly through my chest because I was starting to wonder if I’d done something wrong or if he was calling to rattle me with more questions. Emma had broken down everything to me, including what to expect, but she didn’t bring up a fucking phone call that would have me feeling weak in the knees.
“Oh hi,” I chuckled nervously as I swindled on my heels, forgetting my task at hand.
“Hey,” he greeted me and I swear, in the moment I wanted to melt through the damn carpet, into the sewer through the Mississippi River.
Syx had one of those suave, deep voices that could talk you out of your panties. I’m sure when he spoke his voice vibrated the walls, it was just that damn deep. It was sexy and would have me making bad decisions.
“I called you to play with your brain a little bit,” he spoke as if it was a demand and not a subtle request. So, even if I didn’t want to participate, I didn’t have a choice. “Did I catch you at bad time?”
Yes! Yes you caught me at a very bad time, actually. I was about to go do yoga, maybe visit my parents, get my oil changed and my tires rotated—nothing major.
“N-no,” I stammered. “I’m free right now.”
“Are you sure? We can reschedule at a later time?—”
The more he talked the more my heart thumped out of my fucking chest. I was practically enamored by his impromptu calling me as if this was routine.
“Actually, it is,” I sighed, finally being able to catch my breath. Releasing an exhale saved my life.
“Let me ask you this, would you rather do everything in person, Nyne? Does speaking to me over the phone make you nervous? I don’t want to make you nervous,” he projected, reading me like an open book.
“Who said anything about me being nervous?” I muttered out loud, letting my thoughts escape from me. I wanted to slap myself.
“I can hear it in the tone of your voice. I can read you through the phone very well. This is something I’ve been doing for years, so I’m not going to hold it over your head.”
“Is there a reason you called?”
“I wanted to get to know you. I want you to get to know me. I want us to get to know one another so meeting in person for the first time won’t feel awkward. Unless that’s what you’re in to,” he chuckled, making me release a low giggle of my own.
I plopped down on the bed, abandoning tasks.
“I told you everything there is to know about me in the email, Syx,” I blushed. “What else is there to know? I didn’t leave anything out.” I stated honestly. “I’m pretty boring.” I giggled again once more. My nerves probably seethed through the other line like a foul odor.
“Are you married?” He asked.
“No.” I responded quickly.
Then he asked, “Are you divorced?”
